


3 Years Later........

by Mycrofted



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BBC Sherlock - Freeform, Fanfiction, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-22
Updated: 2013-07-22
Packaged: 2017-12-20 23:33:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/893195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mycrofted/pseuds/Mycrofted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fanfiction set 3 years after the fall</p>
            </blockquote>





	3 Years Later........

"He still visits your grave you know." Mycroft mumbled as he passed the sugar to Sherlock.

"Yes, I know Mycroft. He comes every Sunday to read me the newspaper. He knows only to read me the murders and stuff like that." 

"Sherlock, a word of advice. It's been three years, how long do you think John will keep going to your grave? I believe one of these days, a Sunday, you will see if he's there and he won't be. He will have accepted your death and move on."

Sherlock glared at Mycroft, "I still have things that I must take care of. Two of Moriarty's friends are still out there. But don't worry brother dear, the net is closing around them."

"Mark my words Sherlock, John is moving on, and moving on fast." 

Sherlock shrugged at Mycroft's remark and made his way out of the Diogenes Club. He bumped into someone on the way out, but Sherlock was too busy to notice who it was, John.

"Who was that?" John asked.

"An old friend," Mycroft mumbled. "What do you need John?" 

"Have you seen the newspaper? They have finally closed the investigation, after three stupid years, they have finally closed it."

"What was their conclusion?" 

"Suicide." John said looking down.

"Lestrade kept the case open as long as he could, but I think we all need to move on."

A look of anger passed on John's face, then surprisingly it subsided. He knew it was no use to pick a fight with Mycroft, and he also knew that Mycroft was right.

"I also got this in the mail today." John mumbled as he passed a letter to Mycroft. Mycroft opened it and saw that it was a copy of Sherlock's death cerificate.

"I requested a copy of it when they were done with the case."

"Yes I have seen it, blunt force truma to the brain, dead on impact."

"Yes, that's what it says," was all John managed to say. 

"John, perhaps it's time to officially say goodbye?"

"I don't know if I could do that."

"Yes you can John, just go to his grave and say goodbye, then move on with your life. You wasted three years on this stupid investigation. It's time to move on and time to get your life back."

"Maybe you're right." John said in almost a whisper. 

John left the Diogenes Club and headed off to the graveyard. It was a cold brisk Tuesday morning and the London fog swirled throughout the streets. John's hand tremor was noticeable as he rubbed his hands together. It had come and had been there ever since Sherlock's death. 

John slowly walked up to Sherlock's grave. A bench had been set there, per John's request so he wouldn't have to sit on the ground whilst he read the newspapers to Sherlock. John sat down on it and rubbed his hands together again. He sat there for a while, just staring at the tombstone. Finally after about thirty minutes John began to speak in almost a whisper.

"Well Sherlock, I guess this is it. This is truly it. It's time to say goodbye." John stood up and began to pace back and forth then sat down again. "Lestrade kept the case open as long as he could. I have your death certificate with me. Umm I've read it about a dozen times. The truth is Sherlock, I don't think it will ever sink in that you're dead, even through it's been three years. I still think that I'm going to walk up the stairs of 221B and you'll be seated there, violin on hand, rosining your bow. Nothing will have happened and we will have just gone on solving cases that the police can't solve," John gave a soft chuckle then added, "which is most of them. But I know that, that isn't ever going to happen. I remember just after you died and Ms. Hudson and I visited your grave. I still had hope then. Hope its such a funny word, its wonderful if you have it and terrible if you don't; and I have lost hope, Sherlock. I've lost the hope that you're still alive, and I've lost the hope that I'll ever find out what happened with you during your final month. There is just one question that never leaves my mind, where is Moriarty? I sometimes wonder if he was ever real, but then I dismiss it because I know you Sherlock, I saw you solve those cases. You didn't make those up, you couldn't have. I have to keep on track through. I have come here to say goodbye to a man with whom I owe so much, and also to apologize. I am sorry I wasn't able to solve this case, I'm sorry that your name has been smeared forever and I couldn't do anything about it. I am sorry Sherlock." John looked down at his trembling hand and then up again. "Goodbye old friend." He whispered softly; he then gave a military salute and walked away finally having said goodbye.

"What the heck did you say to him?!" Sherlock shouted as he rushed into Mycroft's room at the Diogenes Club.

"I told him it was time to move on, Sherlock."

"You said that just to spite me."

"Yes Sherlock in truth I did. I also did it so John could move on with his life. Did you really think he was going to wait another year or two and not do somethig rash?"

"Like what Mycroft?"

"Oh let me think....kill himself?"

Sherlock looked at Mycroft with anger in his eyes, "Mycroft, I am so close to finishing this stupid invistigation. I was going to go back to Baker Street after I was finished."

"Sherlock, you can't possibly think that you can just slip back into John's life. John isn't just going to let it go and act like nothing happened."

"Why wouldn't he?"

"Sherlock seriously? Think. You're this great detective or at least you were. Your best friend "dies", then comes back and acts like nothing happened. Would you let it go?" 

Sherlock threw a huff then turned with his coat tail flying and left the room.

Sherlock rushed out of the Diogenes Club, furious at Mycroft, furious at the situation he was now in.

"I was so close to the end of this stupid investigation, then Mycroft had to ruin it," Sherlock mumbled to himself. He needed someone to talk to so he made his way to St. Bart's.

Molly was just finishing an autopsy when Sherlock bust into the room and sat down. 

"Hello Sherlock," She said shyly.

"Hello Molly. Do you want to hear what the idiot Mycroft has done?"

"What?"

"He's gone and told John to move on with his life."

Sherlock had been messing with the microscope set out while he talked. Then after a moment of silence he looked up to see if Molly was even still in the room. She was, but had gone back to work. After about a moment or two she began to speak.

"You sincerely believe that your brother was wrong in doing this?" She asked.

Sherlock sat there thinking. "Was it really right to leave John without any answers all these years. No he had done it to protect John, and anyways tonight it would all be over. The case would be officially closed." 

"Yes, I do." 

"When do you think this case will be done?" Molly asked. She asked that everytime he came there and always got the reply, "Soon." but this time the answer was different.

"Tonight."

"Really?"

"Yes Molly." He said standing up and putting on his coat which he had flung so rudely over one of the bodies in the room, and wrapping his scarf around his neck. He was about to exit the room when he turned back and said, "Your man there died of poisoning, not of the stab wound." And with that he left.

Sherlock stood outside Scotland Yard for about ten minutes before he decided to go inside. He knew in order to arrest Moriarty's friend legally he would need assistance. He only knew of one man who would be willing to help him. 

A month after Sherlock had died his name had been cleared of all charges of kidnapping. They hadn't found the man yet, but witnesses didn't identify Sherlock, but a man that looked like Sherlock. 

Sherlock passed the front desk without notice and made his way silently towards Lestrade's office. He paused outside, then opened the door.

Lestrade was facing the other way towards the window in a conversation with someone over the telly. Sherlock just stood there waiting for him to be done. Finally after about five minutes of listening to Lestrade getting into an agurement with the other person, Lestrade turned around and slammed the phone down.

"Hello old friend," Sherlock whispered.

Lestrade looked at Sherlock, down at the floor, then rubbed his eyes, looked up again and repeated. Sherlock watched with amusement for the first few times, then decided to put a stop to it.

"Lestrade it's really me, stop looking like Anderson."

"Sherlock, how, what, why. I don't....I don't understand."

"Be patient Lestrade, I don't have time to explain now. We've got work to do. There are still two of Moriarty's men still out there. I can't return to Baker Street until they are dead."

"Baker Street! Does John know?" 

"Not yet, and he won't until these men have been caught."

"Al right Sherlock, I trust you know what's best. To be honest with you, I think none of this is real."

"It's real Lestrade, and tonight we will finally close this case."

"What do you need to do done?"

"Two officers, and if you want you can join." 

"Sherlock I need more information."

"Lestrade I can't give any more."

"Don't tell me. Your saving it for the big finale?" Lestrade said mockingly, whilst rolling his eyes. 

"In a way yes." And with that Sherlock left Lestrade still somewhat in shock, and confusion.

John arrived at 221B shortly after saying goodbye to Sherlock finally. He went first to Sherlock's room with boxes in hand. He started at Sherlock's bookshelf. John carefully place each book into one of the boxes than sealed the box and moved on to the next one. Before John knew it he was switching off the light and closing the door. The boxes would go to Mycroft, for him to sort through. 

John than preceeded to the living area. The first thing he picked up was the skull. Memories came rushing in and John realized he never knew whose skull that was. He carefully place in in the box along with Sherlock's violin. Over the three years, John tried to learn the violin, but quickly realized the sound would never be as sweet as Sherlock's playing. He carefully sealed the box and put it with the rest. 

At the end of the day, all John had left to clear was a bookshelf that they had shared. He went through each book flipping the pages making sure nothing was left inside of them. In one book several pieces of papaer slipped out; John quickly picked up each piece and began to examine them. They had names of what it looked like to be cases; but there were none that John recognized. "So this is how Sherlock kept track of his cases when I wasn' t here." He thought to himself. John took the pieces of paper and added them to the box of files and papers of Sherlock's. 

After putting the last piece of tape on the last box, John stood back and looked at the flat. It seemed so empty now. The once cluttered filled living area just had now a bookshelf with John's medical books and Sherlock's and John's chairs. The couch was still along the wall and the table by it, but it all seemed empty, so lifeless. One would have never guessed that the world's only consulting detective lived there. And slowly sure enough Sherlock was slipping out of John's life as John moved on.

Lestrade and the two officers Sherlock requested made their way to the destination Sherlock had given him. On the way Lestrade mind wandered from place to place. He thought about Sherlock's "death" and how he could have possibly survived. He also thought about how John was going to react when he found out Sherlock was alive. Would he break down? Would he not allow Sherlock back into his life? He couldn't imagine what John was about to go through, or did he? He had known Sherlock more than John, but John had made Sherlock a better person. John was Sherlock's audience. He admired Sherlock's work and praised him for being brilliant; and now Sherlock didn't have his audience, maybe that's why Sherlock was not telling him anything because he wanted an audience. He hoped Sherlock understood that people change, especially after three years. 

Lestrade arrived at the destination and stood there waiting for about five minutes, then Sherlock appeared from the shadows. 

"Do you always have to be that mysterious?" Lestrade mumbled.

Sherlock looked at Lestrade, but ignored his comment.

"Everything is set in place." Sherlock whispered.

"Sherlock, don't you think it's time to tell me what's going on?"

"Yes I suppose so, but what the fun in that?"

"Sherlock! Seriously, I need to know what is going on."

Sherlock glared at Lestrade, sighed, then began to tell him what he had in mind.

"Over the past months I have been tracking Moriarty's last two men. Now I have finally got it so we can catch them red handed in the act of burgerly."

Lestrade looked at him weirdly, "Sherlock, we are outside a warehouse, an abandoned warehouse. What could they want from that building?"

Sherlock smiled, "The building looks empty, but it has something much more valuable than your silly little mind can comprehend."

Lestrade rolled his eyes at Sherlock, "What?"

"All of the government's secrets put into one single flashdrive."

Lestrade looked at Sherlock with doubt on his face as Sherlock continued his story;

"The goverment has decided to put everything they know about anything into a flashdrive and secretly transfer it to a safe house in a location unknown. The truck that is housing this flashdrive wanted to go somewhere no one would find it. Hence the abandoned warehouse. There is only one guard, an easy target."

"How do you know that Moriarty's men will try to steal this flashdrive?"

"Let say people often tell me stuff without knowing it."

Lestrade looked at Sherlock. For the first time he noticed against the streetlights how tired Sherlock's face looked. Sherlock also had a look of worry on his face, maybe he was worried about what was going to happen with John. Lestrade was brought back from his thoughts when a loud crash came from inside the warehouse, suddenly Sherlock ran inside. Lestrade stood there not knowing what to do. A few second later Sherlock ran out and motioned Lestrade and the officers to follow him.

They entered a dark building and slid along against the wall, then they hid behind boxes. A small light could be seen coming from the light in the truck. Sherlock motioned the officers to go round to the back of the truck. Suddenly a pounding could be heard coming from the back of the truck. Sherlock motioned Lestrade to follow him. 

"Pull out your gun." Sherlock said simply.

Lestrade obeyed and the officers then preceeded to open the doors. Two men came tumbling out of the truck, both were quick on their feet and immediately they began to ran. The only thing Lestrade could do was to shoot them. He nicked them both in the leg, and both came crashing down to the ground. Lestrade looked at Sherlock.

"These are the two men." Sherlock said smiling. 

"How did they get themselves locked into the back of the truck?" 

"It was simple they went in and I locked it." Sherlock said with confidence. "Too late for the guard through." He said pointing to the front of the truck. "Shot."

Lestrade called for an ambulance and handcuffed the men. Sherlock stood there watching them and was in deep thought. Lestrade began to talk to him.

"What now Sherlock?" He asked.

"Well now, now the case is finally closed. I will go back to 221B."

"Sherlock you have to tell me how you did it! How did you survive?"

"Another day Lestrade." Sherlock said as he walked out of the warehouse. 

Sherlock stepped out of the cab and paid the cabby. He was standing in front of 221B. He looked up and saw the light was on. Sherlock looked down at his watch, "It's 11 at night, why is John still up?" He went and knocked on the door very softly. Ms. Hudson opened the door and immediately fainted. Sherlock laid her down on her couch, and put a glass of water out for her when she would wake up. He then preceeded up the stairs to the flat.

Sherlock stopped at the top of the stairs. The door of the flat was closed. Sherlock just stood there looking at the door, knowing that just beyond it was his best friend. He slowly opened the door with his hand on the front of it, as that was his normal way to open doors. He looked around the flat, he saw all the boxes in the hallway beforehand. The flat seemed so empty, he looked in the kitchen and saw it was as clean as the day it was when he moved in. But where was John? Sherlock looked all around but he couldn't find him. He deduced that he had gone out when he couldn't find his coat or his cane. John had started to use the cane shortly after Sherlock's "death". Sherlock had seen him with it when he would visit the grave on Sundays. Sherlock went to one of the many boxes in the hallway and opened it, it just so happened that it was the box where John had place his violin. Sherlock picked it up, tuned it, and roisined his bow. He them began to play a soft sweet tune, one of John's favorites. 

Meanwhile John had just gone out to get some milk and was back within five minutes. He opened the front door of 221B and the music hit his ears. He stopped, dropped the milk, and just listened to it. "No, no, I'm over it, I've accepted it. Please no." He whispered to himself. He walked slowly up the stairs and stopped in front of the flat door, it was cracked open. He opened it slowly. Sherlock's playing stopped, and he turned around.

"Hello John."

"Sherlock.." John whispered.

"Yes John, I am so sorry. I did what needed to be done and now it's done."

John's eyes filled with anger and rage. Not pain just a bitterness. A bitterness to the man who had wasted three years of his life.

"Why?!" John shouted. 

"To protect you. To protect Ms. Hudson. To protect Lestrade. Moriarty had three snipers, three bullets, three victims."

"You've given us more pain than a bullet would." John hissed at him.

"John, I said I was sorry and I am truly sorry. I am sorry for all the things I've put you through for the past three years; but I had to. There was still some of Moriarty's men out there, and if I came back to 221B, and they found out. Everyone's life would be in danger."

"Three years. Three of the worst years of my life, and you knew it. Let me guess you were there every Sunday? You sat idlily by and watched me as I was fading. And who did you do this for Sherlock? Not me, nor Ms. Hudson, nor Lestrade, you. You needed to finished your silly stupid game with Moriarty. You don't care Sherlock, you never did. And by the way I've already said goodbye to you." John went over to the desk as he spoke and pulled out his gun. "You are nothing Sherlock, you are a fake. A nusiance to this world. A betrayer. A lier. I can fix one of those things." 

John aimed the gun at Sherlock.

"No, please John."

"I've already said goodbye."

Three shots rang out.

Sherlock stood perfectly still. John opened his eyes, and opened the gun. 

"Blanks?!" John shouted as he threw the gun across the room at Sherlock.

"Mycroft had them switched, you know in case."

"In case what? I killed himself, you have already done that Sherlock." 

Sherlock looked down unable to say anything, he knew John was right, right about everything. In truth he could have commuicated to John, he could have sent him a letter or even a text saying he was alive. Now instead there was infront of him a wound. A wound of three years. Sherlock now realized what Mycroft had meant, what everyone meant. John wasn't the same, nor would he ever be. 

John stood there looking down at the gun he had thrown at Sherlock. The gun had hit him in the leg but Sherlock didn't not move. He just looked at John. Sherlock could see that he had lost weight and that he hadn't gotten any sleep. 

"John, how is your health?" Was all Sherlock was able to say.

John looked up at Sherlock with a glare in his eyes, "Since when do you care? You could have ended this nightmare three years ago but you didn't, you stood by. You want to know something Sherlock, I don't care anymore."

Sherlock decided it was best to leave. He walked to the door, and John sat down in the chair facing away from Sherlock. Sherlock exited 221B, hauled a cab, and left.

Times of change have come, and nothing will ever be the same again.


End file.
